


Meet Me in the Hallway

by anovelblogwrites



Series: Cassian and Nesta One-Shots [6]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: This is so angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 06:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11777295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anovelblogwrites/pseuds/anovelblogwrites
Summary: "Nesta and this damned piece of wood--a frail thing, compared to the strength he possessed--had become an impenetrable fortress.He leaned against it, reminded of the monuments of stone and steel he’d faced for days at a time. When breaking through would deplete too much of the power his men did not have, there was only one other option: set up tents, sharpen their weapons, and wait.A siege."





	Meet Me in the Hallway

**Author's Note:**

> hello, yes your local nessian trash can is back ! i just finished acowar last month (i know--i’m a fake fan) and the nessian had me like *insert elmo fire meme here* 
> 
> even though what i’ve previously written in this collection no longer aligns with canon, i’m going to just keep posting everything i write for nessian in this collection. but from here on out, i will be subscribing to canon as of the developments made in acowar 
> 
> (the title comes from the song by harry styles)

The hands Feyre and Mor held in front of their mouths did little to stifle their giggles as they watched Amren raise a fork of cooked lamb to her face. She sniffed at it, and her nose wrinkled. Lucien Vanserra sat between Elain and Azriel. It was impossible to discern which of the males was more uncomfortable as Elain tried to maintain a conversation between the three of them. 

But none of this diverted Cassian’s attention from the empty chair across from him. It had been mutually decided to give her space, if that’s what she needed. But it had been days without so much as seeing her outside her room, much less at a meal. She wasn’t stupid enough not to eat, but that didn’t stop the worry from gnawing at him. It was Cassian’s only company since returning from the camps.

The legs of his chair made a hair-raising screech against the floor when Cassian abruptly pushed out of it. Every pair of eyes landed on him. Running a hand through his hair, Cassian said to nobody in particular, “I’m just going to check on her.” 

He did his best to ignore the almost pitiful look on his High Lord’s face when he left the dining room. The walk to Nesta’s door wasn’t far, and it had been made shorter by his long, purposeful stride. His knuckles were tentative against the wood, but the sound seemed to echo through the empty hall like thunder. 

A deep sigh. “I’ve already told you, Feyre. I’m not--” 

“It’s Cassian.” He interrupted. “Can I come in?” 

“No.” The deadpan honesty almost drew a smile out of him. 

Without taking the time to consider whether or not he really would walk in uninvited, Cassian turned the knob. The decision had been made for him. The door was locked. Nesta and this damned piece of wood--a frail thing, compared to the strength he possessed--had become an impenetrable fortress. 

He leaned against it, reminded of the monuments of stone and steel he’d faced for days at a time. When breaking through would deplete too much of the power his men did not have, there was only one other option: set up tents, sharpen their weapons, and wait. 

A siege. 

“Fine.” The word was not a surrender. It was a call to arms. Voice resonant with bravado, Cassian continued, “If you won’t let me in, I’ll stay here until you come out.” 

When his declaration was swallowed by dutiful reticence, he added, “You know, I’ve had almost six hundred years to master the art of patience.” 

The sardonic reply he’d set himself up for did not come. Frowning, Cassian slid down the door, situating himself on the floor as comfortably as possible. He could handle the venomous words and calculated actions. He was built for it, even. But Cassian had never known what to do with silence, other than to fill it. So he tried again. 

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about--” he trailed off, his brows pulling together. “--Everything. And I’m not asking you to. I just want to see that you’re okay.”

No, that was stupid. Cassian knew she wasn’t, he could feel the dull ache of her grief echoing in his chest. “Or that you will be.” 

War had a way of swallowing a person, and spitting out something entirely different. Cassian had seen enough of it firsthand to know this was true. He’d taken to measuring his life not in years, but in battles. How things changed after them. Perhaps so much had changed after this war, that they had entered a new life. Now it was his duty to find her, as he swore he would. Whether it was in the darkest corner of the world, or her mind-- _he would find her._

“Nes,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse, and Cassian wasn’t sure it was loud enough for Nesta to hear. He drug his hand over the length of his face and sighed. The back of his head hit the door with a dull thud. “Please.” 

\---

The sun was barely peeking over the mountaintops when Feyre came shuffling out of her studio, struggling to balance her easel as well as an armful of paints and brushes. She was already planning what colors she would mix to achieve the silky lavender sky when she nearly tripped over a pair of legs stretched across the hallway. 

Feyre blinked at the sight before her, eyebrows knitting together. Cassian was a heap on the floor, with his wings tucked in tightly behind him, and his neck wedged awkwardly between his shoulder and the door. _Nesta’s_ door. 

As she observed Cassian, her fingers itched to reach for her brushes. She was tempted to abandon the sunrise, and instead lose herself in the details of Cassian’s face. The way his brow was wrinkled, even in sleep. She would choose black, rather than hazy gray, for the shadows of the corridor. Swirl her brush across the canvas, until the darkness was nearly consuming. Until the painting was tinted with the same sorrow and longing as the air around her. 

On the back, she would scribble out the title,

_I can’t stay away._


End file.
